Post 15: NOLA, Now and Then
NOLA, Now and Then
The smell of stale beer and fresh urine hit me like an ether-soaked rag shoved on my face by someone trying to kidnap me. Ah, New Orleans. Big E* was back in the Big Easy, 13 years Iater.
A lot has changed for me—last time I was here I was in my late twenties, traveling with six wild friends and wearing bacon as earrings (more on that later). This time around I was 41, disabled, and traveling with my husband, three wild-for-middle-aged-parents friends, and eight young children. But cheeky NOLA, she was much the same.
Were there times we questioned our family vacation locale? Only a handful of times- like when stepping in an unidentifiable substance or shouting at a child to stop eating what we hoped was a loose Skittle off the ground.
Some of my favorite things about the French Quarter are the food and shops. We got beignets more than once because fried dough is the most universally delicious food. Mae didn’t think twice about eating an alligator po boy. We drank early and as often as we could while making sure eight small wild cards didn’t get run over or lost (headcount of eight is key). We loved going in the touristy voodoo shops, with their preserved alligator parts and aromatic oils promising self enhancement of some kind or another. We passed stores with all sorts of child mesmerizing goods: a merman ornament with prominent bulge and chiseled body, same ornament with legs and a thong . A t-shirt with 40 types of butts. Boobs on things everywhere. Perhaps this was an unintentional lesson in body positivity? We are awful the best good parents making it up as we go.
We walked/rolled many miles a day. The weather was brisk and the children liable to whine about walking at any moment. The bigger kids gave the small ones piggyback rides and 7yo Cate geniusly rolled on wheels built into her shoes. We worked in periodic breaks because we are not total monsters, as my friend Melissa would say. On one such break, we stopped at some green, abandoned bistro tables next to a cute little park with dormant fountains. The three smallest kids (ages 4-5) hopped around the park which was also coveted by homeless people. We wanted to be chill about it, homelessness is an unfortunate reality that we don’t try to shield our kids from. But when a turf dispute erupted between two men culminating in the loser yelling, “cocksucker motherfucker” over and over we knew it also wasn’t the turf for us.
Yes, I thought about bleeping out the expletives so as to protect sensitive readers and so my catholic relatives wouldn’t stop reading my blog (are they though?), but I needed you, dear, sweet, not-that-innocent reader, to get the full effect. Also if my kids repeat it at school I want this to serve as evidence they heard it first in NOLA.
The kids were as enthralled by the commotion as they were confused. As we made a hasty exit—but not so hasty as to say we are leaving because you are making us uncomfortable, more like hasty as in we don’t want to be late for moving over there to let the kids try to catch pigeons— I make a mental note to add this to my upcoming listicle: “20 Ways to Make Your Kids Grow Up Faster.”
Questionable choices aside, we had a wonderful time in the Crescent City. The Children’s Museum is one of the best I’ve ever been to and sells food (AND BEER) you will actually enjoy. The Celebration in the Oaks at City Park featured unlimited amusement park rides and gorgeous Christmas lights. The brass bands filled the streets with energy you feel in your chest and heart. The kids remarked more than once that they wanted to move to New Orleans because they love it so much.
Flashback to 13 years ago: a rag tag group of gays and gals who feed off their I will make this experience whatever I damn well please energy hit the Big Easy for Mardi Gras dressed as the seven deadly sins. I was dressed as gluttony and if there’s one thing I geek out on, it’s costumery. And creating miniature holiday themed villages. And house plants. So yes, I’m a hit at parties.
Quiz Time: Can you identify these seven sins?
I crafted an outfit involving Beggin’ Strips earrings, donut squeaky toy bra, and a crown made out of Peeps. I imagine twenty-somethings will look back at their mom jeans and have the same thought I did when looking back: why was I trying to look unattractive?
We quickly found Bourbon Street wasn’t really our scene as we were neither frat boys hoping to see boobs, nor gals looking to exchange boobs for plastic necklaces, nor vomiting on ourselves. Thus we made our way to a bar in Marigny with dancing, elevated costumery, and periodic glitter bombs exploding. Also a chance encounter with a man named Jammin, which was short for…Benjamin. We had found our place.
Taking a famous streetcar ride was a must do for us. We yucked it up as one can only do in the tipsy sweet spot where the smallest comment or noise spirals into hilarity. The doors opened at a stop and a foul stench surrounded us. We pitied the people getting off. Why would they want to get off at vomit town? See ya suckers. We are staying right here, nailing life. But as the streetcar lunged forward we saw it: puke sliding towards us like lava down a volcano.
“It’s on the move!!!” my friend Travis yelled. We scrambled up onto seats desperately. A girl looked up, mumbled “sorry,” then continued defiling the car. Yes it was gross, but when you’re with the right crew, even the most unpleasant circumstances are hilarious and become legend in your friendship memories.
Such was the case with both trips. A lot had changed, but a city full of surprises and beloved friends who make the best of anything life throws at you? Unchanged and so very happy about that.
* Nickname fabricated for dramatic effect and alliteration
